The East Wind
by Aessedia87
Summary: Starts immediately after series 3. Spoilers! Sherlock/Molly too!
1. Chapter 1

_Got the idea for this one while I was dozing off. Wanted to get it out before I forgot. I'll continue working on the other as well. Enjoy!_

Molly Hooper was in shock.

She still had the phone in her hand; it dangled restlessly and was on the verge of falling.

He was leaving—something bad had happened, but she didn't know what.

John Watson had called her to say that Sherlock was leaving on a secret mission—and that he would soon be stopping by St. Bart's to let her know. John's tone had left her with many questions—and she felt the panic rise in her chest when he couldn't answer them for her.

The phone crashed to the ground at the sound of the heavy morgue door opening—and suddenly there he was. He looked sullen and for the first time Molly used the word 'worried' to describe him.

"Molly."

His deep voice echoed across the quiet of the morgue and suddenly she was rushing toward him, something was terribly wrong.

She grabbed his shoulders lightly and he slowly wrapped his strong fingers around her small frame.

"What's wrong, Sherlock?"

He looked down at her, his stormy eyes flashing every type of emotion—she could tell he was being hesitant but she wasn't sure what for.

"I've killed someone."

The gasp from her mouth broke the silence in the room—and carefully she took two steps backwards—breaking their contact with each other.

"Why…how?"

"I made a vow, Molly..." he stopped and stepped forward—desperate for any type of affection.

Molly didn't shy away so he continued, "I made a vow to protect John, and Mary—and now the baby... And when that was threatened, I scarified my own life to protect them."

Molly froze, was Sherlock being sent away to die? She reached for his hand, "You need to tell me where you're going—will you be safe?"

He shook his head and a ghost of a smile graced his features, "I came to say goodbye."

"For how long?"

He leaned down and pressed his lips to her cheek, "Goodbye, Molly Hooper."

He turned to walk away but she grabbed his arm, forcing him to stay, "I said for how long."

"Just know that you were always important to me, and you always will be."

He grabbed her hands that were painfully clinging to his Belfstaff and gave them a slight squeeze. He turned once more leaving her with a feeling of emptiness. He turned once more and looked at her before heading out the door—and then he was gone.

* * *

_Did you miss me? Did you miss me?_

Mycroft Holmes froze. Nothing ever threw him off, nothing caused him to feel the slightest bit of panic—but the robotic voice and still picture of the one man who could ruin a nation—did.

He immediately picked up his mobile, calling to make sure other members of the British government were looking at the same thing he was.

After going back and forth—Mycroft muttered the only name of the person he knew could help fix this situation.

"Sherlock."

* * *

"Oh, for God's sake. Make up your mind. Who needs me this time?"

"England."

With that the phone disconnected, leaving Sherlock at a loss. England? What in the bloody hell could have happened in the last four minutes to have his exile forgiven and his plane heading back to the landing strip?

He glanced out the window to see the plane approaching the runway and Mary and John still waiting outside the car.

When the plane landed he walked the few steps down onto the tarmac to come face-to-face with John Watson, "Did you miss me?"

John cringed at the words, "Before you go spouting all that off, you need to come see what's on the telly."

He led Sherlock into the black government vehicle and switched the small television on; there once more was the still image of Jim Moriarty and the odd voice coming out of it.

He turned to Sherlock in an attempt to read his facial expression and found nothing.

After a few moments he finally spoke, "It can't be him."

"I know, you saw him blow his brains out."

"He put the gun in his mouth. I was there."

"But no one else was there, Sherlock", Mary piped in softly.

Sherlock turned to Mary his eyes wide, "There's just no way."

"You were occupied with faking your death, you never know."

Sherlock slumped against the back of the chair, if anything this is not what he was expecting. An issue with the royal family, another Irene Adler case—sure… but not Moriarty—anyone but him.

His eyes filled with panic once more and he looked at John with urgency, "Molly. We need to get Molly! If Moriarty is alive, she'll be the first one he goes after."

John's eyes widened in response, "Let's go then."

* * *

For the second time that day Molly Hooper was in shock.

First Sherlock had announced he was leaving, and second…

_Did you miss me? Did you miss me?_

This was a cruel joke, a hoax. There was no way. Why now?

She wiped a few stray tears from her face. After Sherlock had walked out the door, she had burst into tears. She knew it was pointless to go after him, knew that nothing she said would keep him from going—so she had stayed, and cried.

Just when she was finally starting to calm down—her telly had flipped from some government run day-time program—to that of her ex-boyfriend and criminal mastermind, Jim.

Now, she was slumped against the back of her desk, hiding from the world. Sherlock wouldn't be coming back and someone was messing with the telly. It wasn't fair.

She heard the heavy door to the morgue open and the one voice she had expected cut through the silence like a knife.

"Molly?"

"Sherlock?"

She stood from behind the desk, her knees suddenly feeling like jelly. Rising she noticed the detective dressed exactly like he had left her, anxiously scanning the room until his nervous eyes landed on her. The sudden relief flooded his face and he moved toward her.

She jumped in an attempt to reach him and fell to her knees when she was close enough and suddenly he was enclosing her in his grasp. His strong arms were wrapped around her, her nose nuzzled into the crook of his neck. She almost needed to pinch herself to make sure this wasn't another delusion.

"How, why…?"

"No time for questions, we need to get out of here.." he pointed to the telly that was now a chaos of news outlets repeating the same image over and over, "If he really is back—than he's back for me, for you—for all of us."


	2. Chapter 2

The cab ride was a blur for Dr. Hooper, all she knew was that she was sitting very close to an overly chatty consulting detective. They were riding across from John and Mary who were animatedly discussing the details with Sherlock.

Mary would reach over periodically and squeeze Molly's hand—almost in a way of telling her to listen to the conversation—but Molly couldn't.

She was scared, and if it wasn't for the sheer force of his solid body next to hers—she would feel loss. Today she had experienced a flurry of emotions, heartbreak, fear, anxiety and worry.

She looked up at Sherlock, who caught her eye out of the corner of his—he half smiled and then continued with his conversation.

She needed comfort right now and found herself leaning into him ever so slightly—he was never an emotional or comforting person in general, but he didn't resist her—just moved his arm so she could rest her side flush against his.

When she looked up next they were at Baker Street, and Mrs. Hudson was rushing out of the front door toward the cabbie.

"Sherlock, you've seen the telly then?"

Her face was pale and gaunt—and her immediate reaction also made it clear that no one had told her about Sherlock's exile.

He grabbed her arms to steady the older woman, "Yes."

He motioned to the group, "Let's get inside."

Entering—they walked up the flight of stairs to 221B and made their way in. Although the flat was comforting in its unusual décor—it felt cold today.

Molly visibly shivered as she made her way over to the leather couch against the wall—the rest of the group huddled around her while Sherlock and John sat in their respectable chairs.

After a few moments Mary cleared her throat, igniting a response from Sherlock.

"Yes, well… we don't know whether this is a joke, or Moriarty himself—but we need to stay on guard."

John nodded beside him, "We all need to stay together, separating won't do us any good."

Sherlock hummed beside him but said nothing—he was thinking, his hands resting on his temple indicated to the group that he was delving into his mind palace—looking for any type of clue that he may have overlooked.

It was uncomfortably quiet until the static from the television changed to a fuzzy picture—at first no one noticed, but soon the picture became clear.

This time, instead of a picture of Moriarty—it was the man himself, standing in the same position—wearing a crisp suit—he looked directly at the television and spoke softly.

"_Did you miss me?"_

Molly shrieked, Mrs. Hudson began to cry and Sherlock darted toward the television—analyzing anything on the man's face that could give away any details.

"The remote, John! The remote!"

John tossed over the remote and Sherlock quickly hit record—the image replayed one more time—and then the TV static returned.

He slumped against the TV with a look of defeat—one that instantly scared Molly. He never looked beaten, never looked worried—but now it was etched across his handsome face.

"There's no denying it now" he said after a moment, "He really has returned."

* * *

Hours later Molly found herself curled up on Sherlock's couch. Mrs. Hudson was back downstairs in her apartment, and John and Mary had taken up residence in the abandoned and older 221C apartment. Thankfully Mrs. Hudson had the sense to keep it furnished enough, in a hope to attract new tenants.

Now Molly was curled up and eyeing Sherlock from across the room. He was sitting in his chair, his hands against his forehead and his eyes open. He seemed to be scanning the room, but Molly didn't know what for.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" she broke the silence with the question that had been lingering in her mind all day. Although Moriarty had returned, she still wanted to know exactly what had prompted Sherlock to say his goodbye to her earlier in the day at St. Bart's.

"About?"

"Why you said goodbye to me."

"I was leaving."

She scoffed and stood to sit in the chair across from him, coming closer she could see the light of the fire glinting in his eyes, "For how long?"

He shuffled, "Six months, or so Mycroft put it."

"So you would have returned then?"

"No."

He broke his contact with her and looked down at the ground, "I told you I was coming to say goodbye."

"You were leaving to die?" she said the words quietly and he almost had to strain to hear them.

"That doesn't matter now, I'm here."

"If Moriarty hadn't returned…"

He looked back up at her, "Please don't start that Molly, I would rather be on a plane to Eastern Europe right now than have that maniac back in our lives."

"How can you say that? The people who love you most in your life would have lost you!"

"And now I might lose them."

She began to reach for his hand but thought better, very rarely did Sherlock say exactly what he was thinking—in the sense of sentiment—and Molly idly wondered if it was because of the looming amount of stress building up.

She was about to tell him that he didn't need to be worried when his mobile rang.

"Speak."

Molly only assumed it was Mycroft from his tone, but watching she felt a sense of panic. Gone was the cool demeanor on his face—slowly it was changing to one of worry.

"I'll be right there."

He shut close the phone and stood quickly, grabbing his belstaff and shoes, "Stay here, go down to Mrs. Hudson's and don't open the door for anyone."

He walked out the door and after a moment walked back in, "Scrap that, grab your jacket—we need to all stay together."

After Sherlock rounded the rest of the group, including Mrs. Hudson who complained about the time of night—they hailed a taxi and made their way toward the Kings Cross tube station.

Walking down they were greeted by Lestrade and Sgt. Donovan who were pacing back and forth—in the distance Sherlock could see Mycroft speaking with an older man. When he eyed his brother he motioned for him to join him.

"See anything peculiar?"

Sherlock scanned the station, right now everything seemed fine. A vacant train was at the station waiting for any passengers that might join and when it began to move…

Sherlock's eyes widened at the note scrawled on the station's wall. Below the sign for the King's Cross Station was blood red graffiti stained onto the wall.

_Did you miss me, Sherlock?_

_If you haven't seen the live version of Moriarty at the end of the Final Vow... Here is the link: watch?v=qWmEYq9oZxA_

_It's at the end of the credits!_


End file.
